


Collect Call

by orphan_account



Category: Homestar Runner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A quick jail visit between Coach Z and Bubs, during the events described in Marzipan's Answering Machine #17. One-shot.





	Collect Call

It's ten minutes into their allotted twenty-minute visit before Bubs finally gets through security, griping and cursing the guards that begrudgingly let him through - ten minutes of Coach Z wringing his hands and blubbering about how  _he_ wasn't going to show up. But Bubs follows through, like always, and the door to the visitation room slams open, followed by Bubs hurriedly shuffling to the seat corresponding to the Coach's - thinly separated by a wall of clear (though scuffed) plexiglass.

They both pick up their phones simultaneously - they're sort of like payphones, in their shape and style. Immediately Bubs can tell Z's been crying - that is, he can tell he's been crying even if he wasn't staring right at his reddened face.

"I - I thought that you wasn't comin'," he blubbers, accent just a touch faded under his congestion.

"Aw, nah," Bubs begins, sympathetically. "They just like givin' me a hard time 'cause they think I'm smuggling stuff instead'a just bein' a big guy."

Coach Z sniffles a few times, and Bubs watches as he wipes at his dripping eyes with the sleeve of his prison scrubs. "You know what I mean. My glandular problem. My gravy boat problem," Bubs jokes through his teeth, trying to lighten the mood.

...

"So... How's life on the inside goin', Coach?"

"It's," he begins, taking a deep shuddering breath, "Jus' fine, I guess. Th' carfateria food ain't so bad, and the guards say I do a darn great j- jorb at our recess kinda deal, ev'ry Too'sday 'n Thuurs'day."

"Aaw, now there's the Ol' Coach I know. 'Sides, your trial's comin' up. Just a few weeks now, and you'll be outta here! Back to coachin', runnin', jumpin', and advicin'!"

"Y-Yeah..." Coach stammers, dubiously.

"Look," Bubs begins, "Don't worry 'bout your hearing. I got it all taken care of for you," Bubs says with a sense of finality, voice dropping lower as he continues, as if he's expecting the penitentiary to not be recording what he's saying.  
"You know I'm real sorry you got messed up in my stuff. My shady stuff. My business. My BUIZ-ness. Bubs always takes care of his own, though - and I'll getcha outta there. Won't even take any skin off my back doin' so, neither!"

The coach sniffles a little on the other line. "I think we only gotta few minutes left 'ta talk abrat stuff here, Bubsy. They limit 'ya pretty harsh-like."

"Oh..."  
Bubs' teeth grind and grate, applying pressure on his molars. "Well, I know you'll be fine. You'll get through! Jus' 'member we're all rootin' for you back home, and waitin'."

"Mmm... I - I'll be talkin' 'ta yous soon..."

"REAL soon, Coach. Don't 'cha forget it!"

And they end the call early and Coach is led away, no doubt back to his cell.  
And Bubs ambles back to the front desk to pick up his 'articles'.  
And Coach sets himself back down onto his cot, and Bubs gets into his car to drive back to the Concession Stand to work a late night.

And neither of them can stop thinking of when they can finally put this behind them.

Just a few weeks...  
Just a few weeks.


End file.
